Chapter Thirty-Six – Tankery

Chapter Thirty-Six – Tankery

“Because of the conditions on the ground in the Oceania region, notably the rise of semi-aquatic Antithesis forms along coastal regions, the nations of that region needed a new land-based defensive vehicle.

Hence, the Bob Semple Mk 2. A solid, if slow-moving, weapon’s platform capable of taking on the Antithesis threat while keeping its occupants safe and comfortable. It is also notably cheaper than most other armoured vehicles, being made from repurposed farming equipment and common materials.”

–Modern Tankery Magazine, Issue 135, 2050

***

“Alright, are you the guys I’ll be heading out with?” I asked as I walked my mech over a cleared out area just behind the wall.

Before me was a small fleet of armoured vehicles. Some I recognized, and a few that I didn’t, but mostly my attention was on a familiar figure.

“Hey, Stray,” Major Tinwhistle said. She smacked the hood of a truck, then spun to face me properly. A few moments later she was up close and standing right up in my mech’s grill. “You have to let me see the inside of that beauty one day. That is a fine-looking piece of engineering.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Wouldn’t want it in my corps, though,” she continued.

“You wouldn’t?” I asked. “The MEOW’s got a decent gun, fantastic armour, and can move around well enough.”

She shrugged. “None of that matters to us. We’re the Engineers that need to fix the damned things, not ride them around. If you bring me something that complicated it’s going to be a right bitch to repair and I’ve got a maintenance list longer than I am tall.”

That was fair, I supposed. “It’s not that bad, if you have replacement parts. Otherwise, yeah, I can see it being a problem.”

“It’d mess our logistics right up. But hey, that happens all the time. The brass love their boondoggles as much as the engineering corp hate having to deal with them. Speaking of which, this is the fleet heading out with you.”

I nodded, then had the MEOW’s head do the same. “I recognize the troop transports, at least,” I said.

There were three of those. Long, rather tall half-tracked trucks with a boxy rear and a front built like a cowcatcher. Their windows were little more than a slit, and there were sponsoons on either sides with the barrels of machine guns sticking out.

The top had another machine gun, this one with a hatch opening that a brave soldier could stick their head out of to shoot.

It was the kind of thing designed to carry brave idiots into the thick of it, and then maybe out of it as well.

“Yup! We have three ATTs here,” she said.

“ATTs?” I repeated.

“Armoured Troop Transports. Keep up with the lingo, Samurai. They’re pretty tough old cows, built way back in ’39. Old enough to drink. Easy to fix, too. These are armed with three machine guns. 7.62s. Nothing too fancy, but it hits where it counts.”

Tinwhistle saddled over to the side, then gestured to a shorter, but much wider vehicle. A tank. Just… a smaller one than usual.

“We have two of these beauts as well. C3 Pikes. Ever seen them?” she asked.

“Nope. They’re ugly as shit.”

They really were. The Pikes had a boxy set of armour around a pair of tracks that protruded a little out of the front and rear. If it wasn’t for those, the whole thing would look a little too boxy. It was short, though, with a turret on the top that had a sharply angled front and rear.

Again, there were two sponsoon guns, though these were much smaller and mounted on the sides of the main turret which itself had a bigger gun. Not a cannon, though.

“Two belt-fed 5.56 guns. Remote-operated. A main 50 cal gun, and just enough room to fit three poor sons of bitches. Did you know that to work in one of these you need to be under five foot four? Only tank in the service with more women crew than men.”

“Is it good?” I asked. I was pretty sure I could walk the MEOW over this thing without much trouble. It probably didn’t come up to my shoulder when I was out of the mech, and I wasn’t the tallest woman around.

“No,” Tinwhistle said. “But it’s tough. Runs off an electric battery, and you can slap it down just about anywhere and it’ll stay there for a damned long time. Their gearbox is a sack of shit though, and their tracks tend to get thrown off all the time. More mobility kills than mission kills, you know?”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author’s consent. Report any sightings.

“Sure,” I said. “And the last two?”

There were two more kinds of vehicles, and Tinwhistle seemed to be in her element yapping about them. Who was I to stop her?